Twelve Flights of Stairs
by catlover5040
Summary: Carlton Lassiter closed his eyes, trying to pretend that he couldn't feel his heart pounding a thousand times a minute. It was over. The whole terrible nightmare was over. For now, anyway. Tag to "Mr. Yin Presents"


**Disclaimer: I do not own Psych. I do not own Lassiter or Juliet or any of the other characters. **

**A/N: Spoilers for 4x09 "Mr. Yin Presents". I've done a couple other things similar to this, but this is from Lassiter's POV and it's a little different than anything else I've done before. Hopefully Lassie isn't too OOC.  
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Carlton Lassiter closed his eyes, trying to pretend that he couldn't feel his heart pounding a thousand times a minute.

It was over. The whole terrible nightmare was over. For now, anyway.

He got her.

He glanced at his partner, who looked shaken and pale, and caught her eye. She smiled weakly at him, and nodded as if to say, _Yes, I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me._

But that was far from the truth. He knew it.

He looked up at the sky. The sun was just starting to rise, and he suddenly felt an odd burst of hatred for the wretched, glowing _thing. _It rose every day, every blissfully normal day where he got up, got dressed and drove to the station. How _dare _it rise now, just as normally as ever. How _dare _it pretend that everything was normal, that nothing had happened. Why couldn't it glow blood-red, or better yet, not rise at all? It ought to give everyone _some _sign that he had nearly lost the most important person in his life. He glared at it spitefully as if he were commanding it to do _something._

But it stayed as it was, shining as normally as ever.

Oh, he hated that wretched thing.

As a matter of fact, when he thought about it, he hated _everything _around him. He hated _everything _that was there every day, everything that was _normal._ All those things, the sun, the sky, the clouds- how dare _any _of the things that made the day normal even _exist _at a time like this. He `was even angrier at the earth itself, for being so darn normal. Why wasn't the planet breaking in half, why weren't there demons running all over the place, why weren't people spontaneously combusting?

Why did it seem like most of the world didn't even know what had happened?

He glanced at O'Hara again. She was staring steadily at the sky, trying to look casual and unconcerned. When he looked at her again, this time out of the corner of his eye, she was biting her lip and her eyes were tearing up.

He knew this would happen. He knew she would be upset, after all, why wouldn't she? She had almost died, and that was enough to make anyone break down. He knew that at one point or another, she would need him.

More than ever.

So why wasn't he with her right now? Why wasn't he talking to her right now, assuring her that everything would be okay? Why was he, to some degree, avoiding her?

Before he could think about anything else, his phone rang. He picked it up and saw who it was- _Spencer. _He suddenly had a strong urge to chuck it over the edge of the building. He restrained himself, however, and answered it.

"What do you want?" he growled.

"Uh- Lassie." His voice was uncharacteristically quavery and nervous. "Can I- can I talk to Jules?"

"Why don't you call her?"

"She doesn't have her phone, Lassie. Yin took it."

"Why don't you call Guster, then?"

"I did. He won't let me talk to her. He says it's a bad idea."

"Well, so do I." O'Hara was close enough to breaking down without Spencer and his tactless words.

"But Lassie-" he started, but Lassiter slammed the "off" button violently. If he couldn't protect O'Hara from serial killers, he could at least protect her from Spencer. Even if his intentions were good, he would say something wrong and she would completely lose it. He knew both of them too well.

And he knew that she didn't want to break down in front of everybody else. He knew she was anxious to maintain the illusion of cool, calm Detective O'Hara. He knew that appearing professional was important to her, and he understood and respected that.

A few dreadful minutes passed. He knew that he would have to talk to her, at the very least, but he had no idea what he would say. _Hi, O'Hara, sorry you almost got murdered by a serial killer, I hope you're okay? _

He sighed and stared up again at that stupid sun, wishing it would explode. His mind started to wander. What if he _had _lost her? What would he do without her? The Chief would try to reassign him to a new partner, which would _never _work. No-one else could ever live up to the expectations O'Hara had set for him. Furthermore, he would never like any of his partners as much as he liked O'Hara. Of course, she didn't know this, and she probably never would, but it was true. After Lucinda, he swore to himself that he wouldn't have any sort of relationship with his next partner, romantic or platonic- but with O'Hara, that was easier said than done. She was too... well, it was impossible to describe her in one word.

There was something about the way her whole face would light up when they were about to do something new or exciting, the way she would try so hard to get him to smile even when he was in the worst of moods, the way she was so enthusiastic about everything... sometimes her beatific smile was the only thing that kept him going on a hard day. Despite all this, he just pretended not to care, even though he cared more than anyone- especially O'Hara herself -could imagine.

Four years. They had been partners for four years. Compared to the countless years he and Lucinda had been partners, that was nothing, but those four years meant so much more to him. Lucinda had been his female counterpart, tough and hardcore just like him, whereas Juliet was younger and had a certain sweetness about her. She depended on him so much, even outside the line of duty.

He thought about the time she called him in the middle of the weekend, in frustrated tears because her parents were coming to visit and she had gotten in way over her head trying to prepare a meal for them, since she claimed she hadn't had to cook for anyone else since before college. He had spent four and a half hours showing her how to make lasagna and, for goodness' sakes, how to prepare a salad.

He thought about the time she got into a minor car accident and pretty much wrecked the department-issued car she had been driving, and begged him to come over and help her fix it. He had spent the rest of the day driving back and forth between her house and the autoparts store, and showing her a number of things and finally, just as the sun was setting, they had finished. She had actually kissed him on the cheek, she was so thankful- and of course it had meant nothing, but it still felt really nice.

He thought about the time when she had a fight with some jerk she had been dating, and she called him in hysterics late at night. He remembered clearly driving to the guy's house, an hour away in Lompoc. He remembered yelling at the idiot until his throat was hoarse, and he remembered the guy yelling back at him, with O'Hara stuck in the middle looking wide-eyed and terrified. Even clearer in his memory was the uncomfortable ride back to Santa Barbara, when she, hysterical and feverish, cried the whole time.

Then he started thinking about entirely different situations, like the time she came over to his house on his birthday when everyone else seemed to have forgotten the occasion. He thought about the time when a case went bad and they had been held at gunpoint, and she tried to take a bullet for him(in the end, neither of them had been shot, but it was extremely touching nonetheless). He also thought about the little things that meant just as much to him- how she would pay for his lunch when she could see he was having a bad day, how she'd volunteer to be the one who stayed at the station late to fill out paperwork, and how she would leave little encouraging notes on his desk when he was having a hard day(she never told him that she did it, but he could recognize her loopy eighth-grade style handwriting anywhere). When he thought about it, he depended on her just as much as she did him- just in a different way.

Suddenly, a shrill voice rang out. "I'm fine! Leave me alone!"

Lassiter looked around and realized that O'Hara was out of his sight. In two steps he was around the corner and he saw her. An EMT was talking nervously to her, trying to guide her away.

"Detective, you may be in shock and-" he tried to say, reaching out for her hand, but she flinched away.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked. That did it. In two more steps he was right there.

"Get your hands off her," he growled, shoving the EMT out of the way.

"But-" he started to say, but Lassiter gave him a withering glare, and then the next second, the stupid uniformed man was gone.

"Carlton, I'm fine," O'Hara started to say the instant they were alone(as alone as you could be on top of a crowded clocktower), but knowing the truth, he cut her off.

"Don't be an idiot. I know you're not okay. Any fool can see that," he replied.

"Okay, fine, I'm a little upset," she said calmly. "I just need rest, that's all."

"Don't lie to me, O'Hara," he said, but not unkindly.

"I'm fine, I've told everyone a thousand times," she said, throwing up her hands, her blue eyes filled with a strange mix of emotions that he couldn't quite place. "I'm fine, I'm perfectly fine, I just need to-"

"It's fine to not be okay," he half-whispered, reaching out and placing one hand on her shoulder and steadying her elbow with the other. For a split second, she stared at him, her eyes full of bewilderment, and then she crumpled. Without even thinking, he pulled her towards him, so close that he could hardly breathe. Her entire body shook with sobs, and he suddenly felt a strong urge- to protect her, to never let anything happen to make her cry this hard again. Hearing her sob her heart out broke his, and gave him a very unpleasant feeling- one he never wanted to feel again.

Oh, he was going to catch Yin someday, and put him in his place. He was going to arrest him, or maybe even kill him, but not for all the other murders he had committed and attempted- for _this. _For making this wonderfully amazing young woman so anguished, so vulnerable, so afraid. For making him think, for a few hours, that he was going to lose her. For breaking down the strongest person he knew, pounding and slamming away, until there was nothing left but scattered pieces and shards- little, pathetic, sorry shards.

"O'Hara," he whispered, not sure what to say besides that. "You're- you're gonna be okay. Everything's gonna be fine."

She kept sobbing, grasping at his shirt to find balance. Her head was just under his , and he could smell her hair- that wonderful scent of strawberries. No, it was peaches. He knew that well, and it wasn't often that he forgot.

"Juliet," he murmured, and he liked the way it sounded, so he said it again. "_Juliet._ You're going to be fine. I'm here now."

She kept crying, as if unconvinced. He had her gathered in his arms, her feet a fraction of an inch above the ground, and he was blissfully unaware of anything and everything but her.

"I- I-" she stammered, trying to form words. "I was so scared!" she finally managed. "I thought you wouldn't come," she whispered, putting her arms up around his neck and holding on to him, still tighter. "I thought no-one was coming."

"Why wouldn't I come for you?" he whispered back, which set her off in a gale of tears again.

He just stood there with her, holding her tight, fulfilling her greatest need at that moment, which was to be loved. To be cherished and cared about beyond her imagination.

"What would I do without you?" she whispered to him.

"What would I do without _you?" _he murmured. She cried harder.

He cradled her gently in his arms and ran his fingers through her hair, thinking about what on earth he would have done if he had arrived a second too late. What would he have done if he had lost O'Hara? No, that was wrong. _Juliet. _What would he have done if he had lost her?

He held her still tighter, listening to the anguished sobs that subsided to sniffles and gentle breathing as she fell asleep, in his arms, still standing. He stood there for a moment, staring into the sunrise and weaving his fingers through hers. After a few minutes of pure calm and quiet, he realized that they couldn't stand there for long. It was a crime scene, after all.

All the same, she seemed so calm now that she was asleep. She had been sobbing her heart out a second ago. How could he wake her up?

He couldn't. That left just one alternative.

He wasn't a strong man, but he had strength enough for the very person who gave him strength every day.

He lifted her into his arms and carried his sleeping partner down all twelve flights of stairs.

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**A/N: So... what did you think? Love it? Hate it? Tell me why! R/R!**


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